


The Baker

by fictionalfaerie



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9324521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalfaerie/pseuds/fictionalfaerie
Summary: Jacob dreams of gunfire roaring in his ears, bellowing like wild beasts... but he also dreams of great swirls of vibrant blue, exhilaration and adrenaline racing alongside sleek scales and giant feathers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to write about Newt and Credence bff-ing around the world with magical beasts. Instead I wrote a piece about Jacob post-movie.  
> Naturally. 
> 
> Much love to Nikki for her input and encouragement, and to Emily for her encouragement.

Jacob dreams of gunfire roaring in his ears, bellowing like wild beasts. He dreams of mud and snow and running from enemy fire, climbing trees desperately to escaped oversized monsters they’ve let loose on him. He dreams of bark, wet against his fingers, rough against his face as he presses his eyes tight and tries to avoid sharp horns stabbing at him. He dreams of being caught, rough enemy hands shoving him along, snarling out hatred, hissing things like “ _feind_ ” and “ _dobi ga_ ” and “ _nomaj_ ”, words he doesn’t have to know the meaning of to understand. He wakes drenched in sweat, trembling, and wonders what he used to dream about. 

But he also dreams of great swirls of vibrant blue, exhilaration and adrenaline racing alongside sleek scales and giant feathers. He dreams of awkward smiles and ducked heads, and can feel his heart swelling with amazement. He dreams of the arctic, the desert, the savannah, the jungle, all places he’s never seen outside of pictures, no matter how real the air smells. He dreams of wide eyed animals with eyes so large he can barely believe it and of beasts who purr so loudly their spiny bodies shake. He wakes up and looks around, expecting to catch a glimpse of a tail disappearing into improbable places. 

Best, though, are the dreams about her. He dreams of red lips- smiling widely, laughing gently, pressing softly against his for just a moment. He dreams about the smell of strudel, a whiff of perfume. He dreams about eyes that track him across the room and know him better than any ever have or ever will, eyes that know him and still want him around. He dreams about soft blond curls and a steel willed mind. He wakes up to a pillow wet with tears and mourns the loss of someone who isn’t even real.

\-----

Jacob Kowalski has always been a practical man. For all that he’s accused of having his head in the clouds or dreaming too big, he’s always known who he is and where he stands. When life starts spiraling a bit, he doesn’t let it throw him for a loop. Instead, he finds ways to keep things in check. The easiest is writing down his dreams, recording them in a notepad he purchases specifically for it. He jots down snippets of dreams, doodling out pictures of wild beasts and trying to capture words to explain the scent of perfume that lingers in his thoughts for days, so rich and real that he can almost smell it.

It helps. 

Some days, when he’s feeling downtrodden and useless, the book reminds him how beautiful the world is- how vast and full of possibilities. Other days it haunts him, causing the ache in his chest to grow and grow, feeling the absence of these things like a tangible loss. The worst days are the ones where he looks at the notebook and wonders if it’s all caused by some sort of shellshock or something, if he’s lost his mind. 

On those days, he lets himself open the case under his bed and run his fingers across the one silver egg he didn’t let the bank hold onto. 

It helps. 

It reminds him that somewhere out there in the world, there’s someone fantastical and whimsical enough to cast delicate broken eggs out of silver. It fills his heart to think that somewhere out there there’s someone who believes in him enough to entrust these beautiful things to him. There’s someone out there who wants him to be happy. 

He doesn’t think he could dream up something quite so beautiful.

\-----

While Jacob waits on the workmen to fix up his run down shop (his, his, _his_!) he bakes and fine tunes, practicing his craft until his eyes are tired and his fingers are burnt.

He takes the goods and hands them out in the neighborhood, each with a business card he’s had printed up- KOWALSKI QUALITY BAKED GOODS - COMING SOON. He gives them to the workmen, checking in on their progress. He hands them out to the other shopkeepers, browsing their wares and learning their names. He meets the tenants of the neighborhood, gifting them with pastries and learning their preferences. 

He takes notes, writing down what these people loved in their youth, what they wish their grandmothers could make just one more time, the flavors they prefer. He hones his craft, but also strives to teach himself new things, to expand the recipe book he keeps.

One day, pulling a failure from the stove, he eyes the misshapen thing. It droops at one end and rises too sharply on the other. Instead of setting it aside, he runs a finger along the almost pointed tip and wonders if he could glaze it and perhaps mimic the look of an erumpent’s horn. 

He grins as the plan forms and almost- almost- forgets to pause and wonder just what the hell an erumpent is.

\-----

Jacob doesn’t get the bakery open as quickly as he would like to, but that doesn’t hold back the business, it seems. Handing out his cards and baked goods has worked out in his favor. As Valentine’s Day rolls around he gets a few orders, and a couple of church groups reach out to him with orders. By the time he opens in March, he’s not really worried anymore.

Oh sure, there are still nerves all over the place. What if things don’t go right? What if no one shows up to the actual store? What if the recipes don’t do as well in the bigger ovens of the store? What if, what if, what if. 

In the end, though, he ends up being overwhelmed by the turnout on opening day. It’s as if the entire neighborhood stops by at one point or another, greeting him and buying his goods. They’ve all brought people with them, too, it seems! He can barely keep up with the orders and the money and the well wishes. 

He closes down after lunch, restocking his racks as quickly as he can bake, trying his best not to rush the decorations he’s spent hours practicing to perfection. 

The evening goes much the same- folks pouring in as they head home from work, stopping by as they head out for the evening. He’s delighted to see faces from the morning rush and flushes with pride each time someone grabs a business card after biting into their purchase. 

By the end of the evening, he’s sold out again. He locks the door and flips the closed sign around, then heads to the back of the bakery. He means to clean a bit, tidy up and head home, but instead he finds himself sinking into the chair near one of the stoves. He runs a hand through his hair in amazement. 

He did it. He really did it. 

Jacob gives in, letting himself lean forward and cry. Proud tears pour down his face as he thinks about where he is and where he’s been. All those days in the cannery. All those nights in the cold, wondering if they’d make it through the mess the world was in. All those rejections, those letdowns, those losses. And somehow, here he is, crying in relief in the kitchen of his bakery. 

His. 

He hopes, with all his heart, that his grandmother’s watching him somewhere. He lets himself have a moment to miss her fiercely, knowing how proud she would be. 

He very carefully doesn’t let himself be disappointed about the one face he wanted to see today and didn’t, knows it’s silly to be let down by someone who doesn’t even exist. Now’s not the time for that. In a few days, sure, he can go back to worrying himself over things that don’t matter. 

For now he’s going to embrace the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> FictionalFaerie - dusty and unused writing Tumblr, to be revamped in the next day or two  
> Faerieishee - main Tumblr, just a mess


End file.
